Enduring
by forthright
Summary: CU. Sango returns to her village for what she'd hoped would be a solitary observance of Obon, but Miroku tags along. A simple story about endurance… and the things that endure. COMPLETE.
1. Infuriating

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this set of circumstances… especially for the unhappy one. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to Fenikkusuken for the spot check!

**A Note of Explanation:** This is the first in what will be a set of four drabbles, following the prompts of a special drabble challenge at the Live Journal community **mirsanficart**. They'll work together to tell a simple story about endurance… and the things that endure.

* * *

**Chapter 1  
****Infuriating**

The constant drone of cicadas was almost as oppressive as the heavy heat that presaged the storm gathering low on the horizon. Miroku had picked up the pace since their last break, but Sango didn't complain. Airing _any_ grievance was out of the question because she wasn't speaking to the monk. _Why did he have to invite himself along? I don't __need__ an escort; I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. _

When Kagome announced her plans to take an extended break to observe Obon with her family, they all understood; when Inuyasha put their quest on hold to follow her into the future, Sango saw her opportunity. Months had passed since the taijiya village fell, and she wanted to honor those who had died—light lanterns, tend the graves, say her goodbyes.

However, her solitary plans were sideswiped by Miroku, who'd been eager to 'pair off' with her. In spite of her assurances that his presence was neither required nor desired, here he was. Casting a dark look at the monk, Sango lagged a little further behind, allowing the distance between them to widen. _At least he's not walking behind me._ For once, she didn't have to endure the feel of his eyes—or his palm—caressing her curves.

Instead, she had to watch him… and Kirara. The little neko-youkai had abandoned her earlier and now perched on the monk's shoulder, robbing Sango of the only companionship that might have helped soothe her prickly mood. A trickle of sweat slipped between her shoulder blades, only to be trapped in already-damp bindings; her clothing clung with sticky familiarity, making her restless in her own skin. Hefting Hiraikotsu into a more comfortable position, she turned her attention to the changing landscape. _We're near the crossroads; there's still a chance we'll beat the storm._

Thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling towards them on scudding clouds, and all at once, there was wind. Sango stopped and turned her face into the sudden bluster. Thunderheads were piling ominously, heat lightning licking their underbellies. _Why doesn't he understand that I need to be alone for this?_

"Sango?"

Miroku was waiting for her. _He's paying closer attention than I thought._ She started walking again, and still he waited. _Go on… say something lecherous. Give me a reason. _She wanted to lash out—like the wind, like a storm.

"Do you need a break?" he politely asked once she was nearer.

She curtly shook her head, and Miroku nodded amiably. Turning his back, he resumed their journey, and Sango felt cheated. She wanted to rail against him, to make him pay for imposing on her privacy, but he offered no openings. With him along, she'd expected a constant barrage of indecent insinuations, flirtatious comments, and suggestive glances, but he was showing uncharacteristic restraint. _He's leaving me alone, but he won't let me __be__ alone._ Sango stared suspiciously after him, sure that his compromise would somehow lead to a compromising situation. After all, this was Miroku.

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**End Note:** This drabble was written for the Live Journal community **mirsanficart** and their Miroku x Sango Summer Challenge. They issued a 4-part drabble challenge, with entries due each week in June. The prompt for Week 1 was Heat. 500 words. Posted on June 7, 2009.


	2. Resisting

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this bit of concession… especially for the gracious one. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

**A Debt of Gratitude:** With thanks to Fenikkusuken, mine beta.

* * *

**Chapter 2  
****Resisting**

Sango relented a little, though not for his sake… or her own, for that matter. Careful to direct her comments to the little neko-youkai currently perched on Miroku's shoulder, she said, "If we're going to reach shelter before the storm breaks, we should probably fly."

If Miroku was surprised by her reluctant proposition, he didn't show it; tickling the cat under her chin, he addressed the feline as well. "What do you say, Kirara? I know you're not fond of getting your paws wet." With an answering mew, she leapt from his shoulder, and in a whirl of flames, transformed for them.

Sango silently passed Hiraikotsu to the monk and climbed on first while he settled the cumbersome weapon on his back. When he approached, she shot him a warning glance, which he acknowledged with a gracious smile. He mounted without a fuss and quietly begged her pardon before sliding his _shakujou_ into its customary place in front of her waist. The horizontal bar prevented Sango from leaning any further away from him, but it kept his hands out of trouble. _Be grateful for small mercies. _The man might be all hands… but there was more to him than that.

When the neko-youkai launched into the sky, Miroku's legs pressed against Sango's as they gripped Kirara's sides, and it was difficult to ignore his broad chest, especially since the cat's leap knocked her backwards against it. Even after they leveled out and she was able to draw away, Sango was very conscious of the fact that she was caged between the monk's arms. He wasn't touching her any more than was strictly necessary, yet she was completely surrounded.

_Why is he being so… perfect?_ The self-control, the courtesy, the calmness—they only widened the gap between them. This was Miroku at his best, and she wanted him, but not here… not now. _Not when I'm on the verge of flying to pieces. Not when I'm at my worst._

Ever since her decision to return to the village, memories had come flooding back—the names and faces of family and friends whose lives had been so needlessly cut short. She would mourn their loss and face her regrets; however, she wanted to lance the hurt, pour out her bitterness, and tend her wounds away from prying eyes._ I cannot grieve with an audience._ _I don't want him to see me like that._ As the first squall-borne raindrops splattered her face, Sango's shoulders slumped in defeat. The situation was impossible, and she was worn out from struggling against the inevitable. The tears would come. He would see.

"Sango?" Miroku's gentle inquiry was nearly lost to the wind, but she felt its hum as he leaned into her, speaking close to her ear. "Sango, we're here," he prodded, and she was startled to realize that they'd already arrived in the ruins of her childhood home. "I'm here," he added, offering.

She ducked her head to hide a bitter smile. _That's the problem. _

* * *

**End Note:** This drabble was written for the Live Journal community **mirsanficart** and their Miroku x Sango Summer Challenge. They issued a 4-part drabble challenge, with entries due each week in June. The prompt for Week 2 was Rain. 499 words. Posted on June 14, 2009.


	3. Hiding

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this sunrise scene… especially for the understanding one. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

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**Chapter 3  
****Hiding**

Sango spent that first night locked up in the workshop, refusing help or company while she supposedly performed maintenance on her weapons. In truth, she huddled in a musty corner, listening to the storm rage on her behalf. The wind moaned through the sagging building, lashing against its sides until rainwater wept down the walls. All she wanted to do was cry until there were no more tears… but she knew she'd have to face Miroku tomorrow. _I will not stand before Houshi-sama with red-rimmed eyes and tearstained cheeks._ A few hot tears slipped past Sango's guard, bitter ones that offered no release.

* * *

She woke with a start, her heart rushing to a gallop when she didn't immediately recognize her surroundings. _Oh… I'm home._ Not that the shambles of the dingy shed offered much welcome. Judging by the pale light filtering between the slats, it was very early; she shivered miserably, sorely missing Kirara's warmth. Rising stiffly to her feet, Sango stretched and rolled her shoulders, groaning a complaint as she tried to ease the knots she'd earned from her awkward sleeping position.

Already, her mind was leaping ahead to the day's tasks._ I'll do what I can to tend the graves; though,_ _it'll be a muddy mess after last night._ With a resigned sigh, she scuffed across the gritty floor; however, a sound from outside stopped her in her tracks. Light and cheerful, the jangle of Miroku's _shakujou_ betrayed his approach. _He's up and about._ Sango held her breath as the monk paused in front of the workshop, but he didn't come any closer and soon passed by. She tiptoed forward and pressed against the rough wood of the door, listening. _What's he planning to do on __that__ end of the compound? That's where __I__ need to be._

It began soft and slow, building naturally to a steady tempo—not so loud as to be showy, but certainly not ashamed to be heard. Miroku's song startled Sango, and she slipped outside, following its solemn drone. Sunshine spilled over the rain-washed eastern wall, lighting up the droplets that clung to the thousands of flowers nodding upon the low mounds. Miroku stood before her father's grave, chanting a sunrise prayer. Hearing his familiar voice raised in this simple service for her family—for _her_—gently broke Sango's stubborn heart. Tears welled up and overflowed, trickling down her cheeks without a fight. No sobs wracked her frame; no cries tore her throat. She lifted a hand to incredulously touch her wet face. Bitterness had become a balm.

She wept silently, eyes closed against the sun's dazzle, listening and letting go. Finally, the last note was prolonged, and the empty village faded back into silence. Sango knew he was coming, could hear the ringing of his staff, and desperately wished for a place to hide. Once again, Miroku understood what was required without having to be asked. With gentle hands, he pulled her close so she could hide her face against his chest.

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**End Note:** This drabble was written for the Live Journal community **mirsanficart** and their Miroku x Sango Summer Challenge. They issued a 4-part drabble challenge, with entries due each week in June. The prompt for Week 3 was Sun. 500 words. Posted on June 21, 2009.


	4. Sharing

**Disclaimer: **I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this simple conclusion… especially for the one who endured to the end, which is really just the beginning. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

* * *

**Chapter 4  
****Sharing**

With the passing of the storm, the wind changed. Something about the way it ruffled through her hair, lifted her clothing, and slid across her skin reminded Sango of Miroku, and she straightened to check on him. The monk labored under the weight of a yoke, ferrying two more buckets of rocks from the slope beside Midoriko's cave. _He's stronger than he looks_, she mused, quickly dropping her gaze when he noticed her scrutiny.

They still worked without speaking, but the atmosphere had changed. Sango stopped imposing silence upon Miroku; they shared it instead. The bitterness of her silence was tempered somewhat by the melancholy sweetness of memories. Lost in the past, she made monuments to those who had no one else to remember them. At the head of each settling mound, she stacked stones for markers, creating low pillars amidst the flowers. _I will endure for your sakes. I will fight on your behalf. I will live in your stead._

* * *

"There weren't flowers before," she commented, bridging the space between them with words.

"Kagome-sama scattered seeds the last time we were here," Miroku shared, stooping to tickle Kirara's ears.

_How like her; I must thank her. _

"Shippo helped, and he was hoping to check on them," he added quietly. "I was able to talk him out of making the trip, but only just."

The thought of bearing up under the kitsune's scrutiny as well made Sango cringe, and gratitude for the monk's persuasion flooded her. With a shy glance, she managed a soft, "Thank you."

His answering look was like a caress.

* * *

Under the light of innumerable stars, Sango set a flickering lantern in the lee of the largest stone marker. She was weary… and worried. _One tiny light for so many souls. Is it enough? Did I do enough?_ Standing with bowed head and bowed shoulders, her soul whispered an agonized apology for the meagerness of this Obon observance.

"Sango," Miroku murmured, calling her from the mire of her regrets. Warm hands pressed down upon her slender shoulders, as he said, "You're strong, but you were never meant to bear the weight of an entire village."

"They don't _have_ anyone else," she protested brokenly.

"But _you_ have _me_," he countered, winding his arms around her shoulders and pulling her back against him. "If you are determined not to relinquish this burden, at least let me share it."

She stiffened in his embrace. "Why are you doing this?"

"This… _what_?"

"You're _not_ being a pervert," she muttered accusingly.

He hummed thoughtfully, resting his cheek against her hair. "Sango, you're here to confront your grief, and a good ally doesn't distract their partner in the midst of a battle."

"Battle?" she asked stiffly.

There was a smile in his voice when he replied, "You _are_ a fighter."

Slowly, she surrendered, leaning into his insistent support. "You, too," she whispered. Sango lifted her face to the sky, letting sweeter tears fall, and Miroku met no resistance when he kissed them away.

* * *

_**The End**_

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**End Note:** This drabble was written for the Live Journal community **mirsanficart** and their Miroku x Sango Summer Challenge. They issued a 4-part drabble challenge, with entries due each week in June. The prompt for Week 4 was Wind. Thanks, ladies! It was fun! 500 words. Posted on June 28, 2009.


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